Summer is icumen in

Or more accurately, has i-come in, though I don’t know how to say that in Middle English. It arrived last week, in a great rush of heat, after a cool spring that seemed to go on for months. This week we’re back to more normal British summer weather, the cool and damp variety, but the weathermen say it will warm up again by the weekend, and they got last week’s crunching thunderstorms right, so you never know.

The point of that preamble being, I like the summer. It’s impossible to get right away from the darker elements of life, of course. For instance, yesterday was the tenth anniversary of the UK’s worst ever terrorist attack, commemorated throughout the country and quite right too; if we forget things like that, the world’s many problems will never be resolved. But summer, nonetheless, is mostly a time when everything looks a little brighter, feels a little warmer and is generally more easy-going and relaxed. And though the women’s quarter-finals at Wimbledon were dominated by Americans, Andy Murray’s still going strong in the men’s, and our Heather Watson came within two points of beating Serena Williams last week. Not that I’m competitive or anything...

The main reason I like the summer is the wealth of great books which suddenly arrive on the market. Publishers know that people like to read while they’re on vacation. Speaking for myself, five books for the fortnight is rarely enough. A few weeks from now we’re renting a beautiful house in south-west France, and the marketing description promises five acres of charming grounds, full of birds and butterflies in the summer, with numerous nooks and crannies with quiet sitting areas. I plan to do a lot of quiet sitting, and if we only had the luggage space I could confidently expect to halve the size of my to-be-read mountain.

Fear not, though: there will be books, even if I have to do mid-vacation laundry to leave enough room for them. Most houses we’ve rented in the past have had their own small library of books, and if that’s the case here, I’m hoping to find an unexpected gem or two among them. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find myself wandering among the shelves of a bookshop or two in the weeks before we go.

So, what shall I read on my holiday? Answers on a postcard please... But while I await suggestions, here are a few of my own ideas.

Last year, staying in a wine-producing area of France, I discovered, via a book based in, yes, you guessed, a wine-producing area of France, an author who the world already acclaimed but who I’d never encountered before. His name is Peter May. I’ve subsequently read more of his work, and two currently grace my to-be-read bookshelves.

Belinda Bauer is another author I came to some time after the rest of the book-loving world. I have her third on my shelf.

Would you believe I’m two J D Robbs behind? It doesn’t happen often, but every time I’ve gone into the bookshop with the intention of buying the paperback of Festive in Death, they’ve been waiting for new supplies to arrive. (I could order it, but I try not to order books, because that way bankruptcy lies; all my book purchases qualify as impulse-buying. Bank account issues aside, it feels more self-indulgent that way.) And Obsession comes out in paperback over here next month. So maybe I’d better do something about that.

A treat I’ve been saving is the second in Phil Rickman’s intriguing series about the Elizabethan ‘magician’, John Dee. (The quote marks are because nowadays we’d probably call him a scientist.) So that may find its way into the suitcase as well.

So if you count Peter May and J D Robb as two each, I’m already over my quota of five – but I’m still open to offers. Suggestions, please?

Comments

[Meriel Patrick]

There's a new Wells and Wong mystery (the fun schoolgirl series that started with Murder Most Unladylike) out at the end of this month - I imagine we'll both want to read that.